Loyalty of a Falcon
by Wolfy of the Winds
Summary: The young Lorenzo has been kidnapped by bandits, who seem to enjoy nothing more than torturing young royalty. M for descriptive injures and implied BL


**A/N:** Soo, long time no see! :D'' Here's another story I've been idly working on in school, and that isn't actually finished yet (eep!), but I was prompted by a friend to type it up, and so I did :D' enjoy~!

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Dusk was settling on the eve of young Lorenzo's eleventh birthday. No doubt there would not be a celebration, but Giovanni had gotten into the habit of bringing the princeling a gift each year anyway.

The assassin was just nearing the _palazzo_ when he heard a chorus of agitated voices erupt. He sped up, going in through his usual entrance – that is, over the wall – and stopping when he could not see the young boy in his room. He tossed the gift onto Lorenzo's bed and checked the other rooms that the princeling frequented.

Each one was empty.

Giovanni dashed down the stairs and into the courtyard, where servants were rushing about fervently. The assassin grabbed one passing woman's shoulder, effectively stopping her, before asking a quick, urgent, "Where is the prince?" she shook her head wildly, wrenching away from him.

"He's gone! Disappeared!" she cried, before rushing away and aiding in the search.

The courtyard proved desolate, except for the book the prince had been reading days before, and it was thrown upside down on the ground – very unlike the manner Lorenzo treated books – in a haphazard way. This drove the fretting maids wild with worry. Most believed, no, _knew_, that Lorenzo had been captured.

Giovanni silently agreed.

A messenger arrived at the gates, out of breath, eyes wide, brandishing a sealed letter. He took the piece of paper to the only man in the courtyard who seemed to have a semblance of calm – Giovanni. The young runner did not seem to realize that the man in strange robes did not belong to the Medici household.

Giovanni did not recognize the seal, for it was most definitely foreign, and he tore open the letter.

"_We are sure that by now, you and your household must be wild with worry for the missing birthday child. Let us assure you that he is not wandering the streets, nor is he in the hands of murderers; in this you may cease your worrying. However, there is no doubt that you would like your son returned to you. This we cannot assure you of, nor can we do. There are a few things that we need from you first, and then we may discuss the young Lorenzo's health and safe return. As your first gift to us, the Medici seal will suffice. You may reach our messenger at the bottom of the tallest tower in _Firenze_._

_ We shall see one of your messengers by the next evening, and unless he carries your seal as a gift, he will be shot, and the princeling sold to the markets within Arabia or China._

_ Rest well, Your Highnesses!"_

Giovanni nearly dropped the letter as he finished reading it. He rapidly handed it to the messenger, ordering him to take it to Lorenzo's parents, as fast as he could.

The assassin whirled and leaped over the wall, heading toward the largest church in the city, spotting the tower, flying over rooftops.

Lorenzo awoke slowly, crumpled against the wall as he was. He glanced down at his leg, perplexed at the odd angle that it lay in, stretched before him. Cautiously, he moved it, and could not hold back a scream of pain, as agony and fire ripped through him. There was something very wrong with his leg, that much he knew. Probably broken.

The rest of his body ached and hurt, and even as it paled to that of his leg, if he did not move it, the other sting and burn came to the forefront of his consciousness and wore through him. There was no safety from it, he dimly realized, so he grit his teeth and braced himself to sit through the torture.

In the midst of this, he heard but did not register a rustling above, though he managed to make out the shape of a man holding a crossbow, crouching uncomfortably. Glancing out the partially broken window, missing a few panes of stained glass, he thought he saw something creeping up the wall. He quickly turned back, wincing at the pain it awoke, resuming his stare into the darkness.

Giovanni clambered up the walls of the tower, clinging to any holds he could find, having heard a scream resonate from within. It was a relatively young voice, high-pitched, and had only caused the assassin to tarry no longer. He reached a broken window and peered in, eyes narrowing at the sight of the princeling; he was curled up, except for one leg, which was mostly straight, bent in a strange way. The boy's gaze was hollow, empty, as if his soul was vanquished, leaving a shell behind. His robes were tattered, the once fine fabrics torn and bloody.

Giovanni's lip curled as he gazed at the broken prince, all spirit gone from the young boy, who was far too young to be exposed to this kind of treatment.

The broken pane was too small for the assassin to fit through, so he reached up for the roof, heading to the place where he knew there was a hole, a skylight. He leaped through, landing in a smooth crouch, drawing a startled yelp from the princeling.

"N-no…" Lorenzo rasped, brought back to the present, realizing only that the figure seemed familiar.

"I see that the Medici are swift in their response, as always. Toss the seal up to the rafters to your left, messenger," a voice called, seemingly from nowhere. When Giovanni did not move, the voice became scorning. "You did not bring the seal? Did you honestly believe that you could be the hero and save the _princeling_ all by yourself?" The words were spat out.

"How long were you planning to wait until you sold the prince? Or do you already have a buyer? Perhaps you do not understand that it is nigh impossible to sell 'damaged goods,' heredity excluded," Giovanni replied, still not moving, scanning the area, identifying the archers who were not hidden well.

"He will heal. There are always buyers willing to attempt to sell the princeling back to his family," the voice replied. Giovanni snarled, and he heard the twang of bowstrings and crossbows. The assassin leaped, over to the corner where Lorenzo was crumpled, shielding the princeling as two bolts entered his back. He grit his teeth, glancing down to check on the prince. Lorenzo stared up at the assassin with wide eyes.

"G-Giovanni?" he rasped, almost curling in on himself.

"Si?" the assassin asked, unmoving, playing the part of the wounded for the boy's captors.

"What are you doing…here?"

"Is that not obvious?"

"I mean…why?" the princeling seemed out-of-sorts, though that was entirely understandable. Just glancing at the boy's cuts and scrapes – and his leg – infuriated the assassin all over again.

"I cannot sit by and let these things happen to you," Giovanni replied softly. The archers above had stopped, more than likely waiting for an opening to hit the princeling. The assassin glanced quickly out the window, locating a haycart nearby. It would be painful, what with those bolts in his back, but it was the only option. _"Altezza_, hold on to me, as tightly as you can. We're going to jump." The last words were the lightest whisper, and the assassin shifted, sliding his arms under the princeling. The archers shot, just as Giovanni shoved at the window beside them, shattering whatever glass remained in a dazzling spray of glittering shards, falling out into empty air.

He had aimed carefully, the haycart was rushing up, directly below them. Giovanni twisted, pulling Lorenzo above him, holding tightly and close. The archers ran to the window, watching the two fall.

The assassin landed roughly in the hay, the impact shoving the bolts deeper into his back, sending fire rushing through him, points of agony breaking his concentration. Lorenzo landed on him less than a heartbeat after he landed, and the prince could not hold back a cry of pain, which he tried to bite down. The assassin grunted, banishing the throbbing pain of his own wounds, rolling out of the hay. He stuck his arms into the cart, searching for the princeling, and felt two smaller hands reaching for his own. Giovanni held the prince gently, pulling him out with the utmost care, doing his best to spare him any more pain. He cradled the boy to his chest, turning and sprinting away from the tower. Giovanni stayed at ground level, knowing that the uneven rooftops, though faster, would hurt Lorenzo.

"Hang in there, _Altezza_. We'll get you home safe." The princeling whimpered, gritting his teeth as unwilling tears squeezed past shut eyelids. Giovanni's heart clenched, as he gazed sympathetically at the princeling. The assassin glanced up, spotting a Medici messenger nervously jogging down the street. Giovanni hailed him, and the messenger's eyes widened as he recognized Lorenzo.

"_Altezza-!_"

"Go back, as fast as you can. The prince is safe for now, but they're no doubt coming after me. Alert the house, have the gates open," Giovanni ordered quickly. The messenger nodded, turning and sprinting away.

"I won't let them get you," Giovanni murmured, starting off again.

"_Grazie…_" Lorenzo rasped, weakly clinging to the assassin's robes, letting out a soft whine whenever his leg was jostled.


End file.
